Taking Time and Grabbing Opportunities

At this point you may be wondering what would inspire, or posses, us to embark on a cross-country family camping trip. Some may have wondered why we wanted to go on our first long trip two years ago, even with the hotel stays and great restaurants. Five weeks is a long time to spend in close quarters with any group of people, especially when three of those people are ten and under. Let me tell you a little story that may help explain.
I was born in Greenville, SC, while my father was finishing his orthopedic residency. As his program ended, my parents realized it may be their last chance to take an extended vacation because he would have few opportunities after setting up his private practice. My parents long have lived by this rule of life: take advantage of the opportunities that come your way; you never know when they'll come again. In early summer of 1977, they knew they were facing one of their moments. My parents bought a camper van, loaded up my older brother and me and headed west. My brother was 4-years-old and I was 4-months-old.
Obviously, I don't remember anything from that trip but I've seen pictures. There's one of my brother smiling widely at the tiny fish on the end of his line and another of me squeeling, mouth gaping and a smile in my eyes. In another, my mom is wearing a maroon down jacket with her hair parted down the middle, tied up on either side under her ears in leather straps.
You may ask, "Just how far west did your parents take you?" Alaska. They drove my brother and me from South Carolina to Alaska, then back to Georgia, in a camper van.
I have been considering how to write about this trip and have lacked a hook. We didn't set out on this trip with a mission. None of us are pushing through our bucket list. This time, I'm not on sabbatical and we don't have a special grant. We aren't on a mission to taste the best dish of every state or write a camping cookbook. This is a trip without a mission.
So, why are we taking this trip all the way to California and back? Because we can. We have the luxury of time, a few extra dollars, and kids who are still up for anything. My parents taught me to try to lay my head down at night with no regrets. If we didn't take advantage of this oppourtnity, who knows when another like it will come again.
Friends, don't miss living. Don't let fear keep you from walking through the open door. There are only so many chances in life to go for it and don't risk looking back, thinking, "We should have done it when we could."

Traveling, Tripping, and Flat Tires

Last night, we pulled into the parking garage to park for an evening cruise with the kids when Derek said, "Why is my low tire light on?" Crawling out of the car, we quickly found the answer: the passenger side front tire was absolutely flat. Our kids found this fascinating. "I've never seen a flat tire that looked like what I've seen in cartoons!" our oldest daughter exclaimed.

I collected up yoghurts, chips, and necessary accessories to walk the kids to the dock for the cruise and Derek dug out the owner’s manual to work on the tire. We had to be at the dock at a certain time to check-in for the cruise. Helping my husband would take too long, so I had to take the kids, worrying if changing the tire in the parking garage was too dangerous and wondering if he would make it in time to join us on the cruise. Derek changed the tire, made it to the cruise, and visited the local discount tire shop with the kids today to buy a new tire.

The flat tire was one more car challenge on this summer's grand voyage. We spent a couple of hours in Birmingham in the car dealership, having our air conditioner fixed. Thankfully it was just a fuse issue and the service manager sent us on our way with a handful of new fuses to have as backups. Then, in Dallas, the power steering felt off and Derek discovered the fluid was running low. We've now added a bottle of power steering fluid to the vehicle supply crate in the car, along with the fuses.

On this warm and beautiful day, I decided to take a quick walk around the convention center before this afternoon's work session. I worried about making it back for the start of the session and started walking a little too quickly for my heels. I started crossing the street and soon found myself flying forward, my phone and cup flying through the air in front of me. My only thought, "Uh oh! Going down! I'm going down!" Next thing I know, I'm sitting in my dress on the warm asphalt in the middle of the crosswalk. Some precious bystanders rushed over to help me up and ask me if I was ok. I assured them I was fine and thanked them profusely for stopping and asking. Me, my bloody knee, and sore leg and back, limped back and found the first aid station in the convention center.

Our plans certainly didn't include a car dealership, auto parts store, tire shop, or first aid station. I can think of countless other ways I would have preferred for us to spend that time and energy. When unwelcome diversions crop up, I can start to lament the waste of time and the fun we are missing. Then I look at my kids. These mishaps are simply part of the adventure for them. Whatever we're doing is a new experience for them. They're fascinated by a flat tire. Watching the car go up on a lift is an exploration of physics and engineering. What they want to know is if they can eat their chips on the boat and if they'll have time to swim when we get back. Even my skinned knee will be one more thing to follow with interest to learn how the body heals and about basic first aid.

Friends, we can't expect to be too tidy about travel, and let us not forget that travel is a well-worn metaphor for life. I can cuss the car or my sore wrist and knee but the car and the body neither hears nor cares, they're simply doing as they do. So, the thing that's in my power is to climb in the front of the boat with my kids to watch the turtle go by. I can plaster myself against the dealership window alongside their little bodies, eyes glued to the lift to try to figure out hydraulics.

My “Talk to me” Face

“Hey, didn’t you teach at Saskatoon Elementary School?”

“Did you graduate from South Dallas High School?”

“Weren’t you in my mom’s group in Knoxville?”

No, no, and no. I have a face that people swear they recognize. Almost everywhere I’ve traveled, strangers ask me if I went to this school or was a part of that civic group. Other tourists come up to me and ask directions. On every trip I find myself apologizing for not being a local then try my best to help them figure out where they’re trying to go.

This isn’t limited to domestic travel, either. Once, in Greece, my own tour guide started talking to me in Greek, thinking I was a local walking by. It took a minute for my brain to process what was happening and then I looked at her quizzically and muttered, “I’m in your tour group. I came over to get something off the bus.” She was a bit surprised then waved me by.

I call it my “tell me” face. Walking through museums, riding on public transport, watiting in a lobby, no matter what I happen to be doing people want to come and tell me things. I’ve heard life stories in the ten minutes it takes to get groceries.

One night in Hawaii, I listened to a young man’s story of his recent breakup and subsequent STD infection that was the result of her infidelity. I was on the bus for twenty minutes.

The funniest experiences are when people argue with me. I was in Cherokee, NC, at the Oconaluftee Indian Village when one of the presenters asked me if I had attended a local high school. He was wearing traditional garb, an interesting contrast to my T-shirt and shorts. I smiled, this being a regular thing for me, and said, “No. I just have a familiar face. I’m from North Georgia.” 

He proceeded to argue with me, convinced I was wrong. “No. You went to school here. I remember you from high school.” I assured him I had never attended a high school in all of North Carolina. It didn’t matter. He was certain I had been in his school or, at least, had dated someone from his school.

In Dallas my “tell me” face must have been giving people a double-dose because it lead to two very interesting encounters. The first was on the tram into downtown Dallas. Part way into our ride, a man boarded with a bike. He hung his bike on one of the hooks provided for bikes in the car (very cool, by the way). He sat on the other end of the car. About five minutes later, he called out to me, “Ma’am. Ma’am. I’m thirsty. Can you give me a couple of dollars to buy some water when I get off?”

I answered that I didn’t have any cash, which I didn’t, and I was sorry. He kept looking at me and asked if I was sure. I told him I was but that I hoped he could fine a place to fill his water bottle when he got off the tram. He then stood up and walked over to us. We shook hands and over the next ten minutes he told us about living in a local homeless shelter and his efforts to get back to Miami. His car, the only home he had, was stolen some months back and that’s how he came to be in the shelter.

When he got off the tram, my kids had lots of questions. They processed part of his story but struggled to understand how someone becomes and stays homeless. He didn’t ask again for money but just enjoyed the time to visit. We shook hands again before he left and we wished him well.

Then, a man called out to me while we were in Dealey Plaza, checking out the JFK assassination spots. He makes his living giving tourists a play-by-play of the assassination. He asks for tips as he’s telling his story. I looked like a good candidate and, of course, he was right. He was engaging and funny and told us some of his story as he went along. The kids were unsure of him because he had a speech impediment: part of his mouth was paralyzed.

Again, when we finished, the kids had lots of questions. They wanted to know why he was talking to us, why his mouth was the way it was, and why he wanted a tip. This led to a continuation of our conversation on homelessness and how hard it can be to find work.

Some days I would rather not have a familiar face. It may surprise some who know me, but I get tired of people-ing the same as everyone else. But most days, the unintended invitation of my face brings fascinating conversations and stories. I’ve cried with people, laughed at their mishaps, helped them think of solutions to problems, and listened to them relive their hardest moments - most of the time I never know their names.

So, I guess this post is a prayer. I wonder where those people are and how things turned out. I pray they are well and give thanks to have shared a little time with them. And I pray to have the patience to pause and listen. Who knows what I’ll hear next? I certainly don’t want to miss it.